


Cockroach cabaret

by Strudelmugel



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Cyborgs, M/M, Nuclear Warfare, Post-Apocalypse, Science Fiction, Terminal Illnesses, Tragic Romance, atompunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5183804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strudelmugel/pseuds/Strudelmugel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Biniveau was a city of haves and have-nots, the last beacon of humanity, yet the two halves didn't know each other existed. Luca, who spends his days in Uachtarach province pondering his future and Andrei, struggling to make ends meet in Iochtarach province, have never met.<br/>And never will as long as their city remains intact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cockroaches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No… this isn’t a new story.  
> Except that it is. Why do I keep starting LuxMold multichapters it has about 5 shippers? Because they’re fun to write, I guess, and I mean, crack ships have gotten pretty popular in the hetalia fandom before, so this could be the start of something great, which I've been saying for about 3 years now lol.  
> Also it’s an atompunk and I just love atompunk. What is atompunk? Okay, well you know how steampunk is Victorian-inspired sci-fi? And dieselpunk is interwar period-inspired sci-fi? Well atompunk’s post-WW2 scifi. Also known as retro sci-fi.  
> I have finished the first two chapters, given that the first one is rather short and doesn’t tell an awful lot about the main characters. So the second one should be up soon. This is set in a fantasy world that may or may not be based on real history, or alternate history, that is.  
> Okay, if I’ve caught your attention thus far, I should probably give out a few warnings: this story contains a lot of illness and death, and some pretty graphic descriptions of radiation poisoning. As the plot is currently missing some vital parts [when is it ever not?], more warnings may need to be added.  
> Still, please enjoy!

Humans were, in many ways, mammalian cockroaches.

This is by no means a deliberate attempt to cause offense, or paint humanity in a bad light. After all, our actions can speak for themselves on that matter, both in agreement and disagreement. We’re complex like that, are we not? Whether or not humans are inherently good or evil as a collective is a question with no straight answer, and one for another day. It has nothing to do with how they- we- are like cockroaches.

This is merely an observation.

Of course, there are some pretty significant differences between humans and cockroaches, outside of biology. Step on a cockroach and you’ll kill it, end of smelly roach. Step on a human and they’ll get up with a vengeance, maybe know _you_ down to step on. Kill a cockroach, others will eat it’s dead body. Kill a human and you become a monster in the eyes of other humans. That being said, you can kill either and there’ll still be millions left to wipe out. Chances are you’ll never wipe out either of them, though if one were to become extinct, my money’s on the humans.

The limits you can push a cockroach to are far greater than the limits humans can survive, after all, cockroaches have adapted to survive mass extinction after mass extinction. We’re a far newer species, and have much to learn about perseverance.

Then there’s the topic of nuclear fallout. Cockroaches can survive exposure to far greater levels of nuclear radiation than humans, that is true and not a myth, but humans have their own ways to survive. Little ingenious ways. Their own technologies to both create destruction and survive it, because a cockroach could never build a bomb powerful enough to reduce living things to burning dust, could never have such politics that could divide the world into a mess of paranoia and arms races that manifest itself into a destruction even cockroaches couldn’t survive.

But the humans?

The politicians and world leaders could hide in the private bunkers as if they weren’t the ones responsible, molding and shaping their guilt into duty and reasoning, whilst the rest clung to the edges and underground and prayed and hoped. So many died that the survivors were barely enough to fill a tiny, fortified city, raised from the air by a network of steel beams and shrouded in illusion. This was the city of Biniveau, a city of haves and have-nots, divided in two because the survivors could never learn their lessons, only forget. The division was so strong there might have been two cities, one of prosperity and luxury and space, Uachtarach, and one a network of crowded staircases, smoke and cramped homes, Iochtarach, or the slums.

And this is where our heroes reside: a boy of luxury with a dark secret, and a boy of poverty, determined to become a light in his dark world.

But whilst Biniveau was intact, they could never meet and their story together could never start.

 

…

 

It was all routine by now.

Arthur glanced over at his colleague, straightening his uniform as he glared at the reflection of his locker. Ludwig was hard to understand at the best of times, and Arthur couldn’t help but ponder what he was thinking. Was it how his uniform wasn’t as immaculate as he’d like, or was he simply thinking about puppies? Both were a possibility with Ludwig.

“Ready, old boy?” he asked, his words laced with the tiniest traces of impatience.

“I believe so,” Ludwig sighed, finally pulling himself away from his reflection. “Don’t want to be late.”

“That would be tragic.” Maybe Arthur liked to mock Ludwig, in subtle ways the man would never pick up on. It was never with a malicious intent though, just simply because he found Ludwig’s mannerisms amusing. Endearing, even.

“Indeed, so we have to hurry.” Ludwig pushed past him, placing his gask mask over his face as Arthur followed.

So few people could say they’ve seen what Arthur and Ludwig had seen. That was the great joy of this job. People just didn’t go outside anymore, not since the war, and 50 years later the world was still uninhabitable.

The pair- them along with the rest of the patrol guards- knew one malfunctioning piece of equipment could spell death. The pre-flight checks could take up to half an hour, though Arthur for one didn’t mind if it meant they’d know if their ship’s window was showing signs of cracks or if their laser guns were faulty. He didn’t even know why they needed guns; it wasn’t like there was anything left out there. Still, better safe than sorry, the young man always said.

The checks themselves went as smoothly as can be, and soon enough Arthur was behind the joystick, Ludwig flicking buttons from the co-pilot’s chair. Their ship closely resembled a car, besides the two large wings protruding from either side and the entire metal body was painted grey. There was one window: a large dome covering their heads with thick glass, and their uniforms were hidden under thick radiation suits. Arthur tapped his gas mask to make sure the thing was still circulating before the ship started moving forward along the runway. This was it.

Arthur couldn’t help still being excited about these patrols after all this time, deep down. After all, so few people got to experience what he did, and he for one loved the feeling of flying: the weightlessness of it all; the tumble in his stomach as he dipped and dived; the radiant views for miles and miles around.

It was scary too, a world devoid of life.

He was grateful for Ludwig’s company, because it could get pretty lonely being the only human around.

“Ready?” he called, and just saw Ludwig nod before they took off into the wasteland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure anyone who knows me probably wasn’t expecting Ludwig to show up, given that I’ve made my dislike of him no secret. But I want to give the characters I’m not so fond of a chance, and practice writing different personalities. And Ludwig does have an interesting personality, which makes me sad that I dislike him.  
> Not that many people will last long in this story, mwahaha!  
> Also, the credit for the idea of a raised city with two levels goes to tumblr user peteradnan, so thanks to them for actually getting a setting sorted.  
> Another thing, this story was also heavily inspired by the music of an Atompunk Opera: the New Albion Guide to Analogue Consciousness. Not the plot, since I don’t understand it, but 100% the music.  
> Anyway, I hope you like the start of this, and if you do, please leave some feedback so I know if I should continue, because it’s hard to tell if stories like these are worth the time put into them.


	2. Uachtarach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luca- Luxembourg  
> Adriaan- Netherlands  
> Anri- Belgium  
> Mei- Taiwan  
> Monique- Monaco  
> Elise- Liechtenstein
> 
> …
> 
> Okay, first chapter with some main characters aha. I’m really curious to see what people think about this story!

He really should be going.

Luca stretched and groaned, finally tearing himself away from his homework and hauling himself out of his chair. In all honesty, he’d rather prepare for his upcoming exams, or catch some downtime finishing his painting and de-stressing. He really needed it, given that he’d been working almost non-stop all week and even his siblings were starting to worry about him.

Okay, so these exams were pretty much the most important event in his life at the moment; he’d just have to lump it for a few weeks, that’s all. He could do it! Then he could become an accountant like his brother!

Luca guessed he could do with a few hours to himself though, so as he fiddled with his braces to keep his trousers from slipping, he grabbed his camera off the bedside table and slung it around his neck. Photography! That was always relaxing! Then again, _they'd_ probably want to join in too. That wasn't so bad!

And what an array of beautiful scenery to photograph, Luca noted as he stared out of his window. Their apartment was on the 5th floor, and had a stunning view of their district’s town square, with it’s layered fountain and neat squares of grass and flowerbeds, ant-like people sprawled out on stylish benches. Opposite their complex was the shopping centre, and around them were more apartments and office buildings. Everything, from the buildings to the ground, was painted in pale creams and white, with large windows that took up nearly entire walls. Everything was neat and designed with the utmost care, with layers of walkways and monorails that never seemed too cluttered. Every tree that lined the streets was trimmed into perfect circles and the enormous glass dome covering them all never dirtied. The sun always shone. Luca glanced up to find today was no different. It was always a beautiful day, and wherever you stood you could only see sky, even from the highest posts and walkways. Never any ground to be seen. Luca couldn’t help but wonder if they were really just floating through the sky, though the city never seemed to move.

There were always cars buzzing about below, and every now and again, the monorail would whizz past on its circuit around the district.

And as beautiful as Uachtarach was during the day, it only got better at night. The neon signs flickered to life along with the glowing orange streetlamps and as the shopping centre closed, the screens flashed to life to play advert after advert. Sometimes, when Luca couldn’t sleep, he’d open his curtains and watch the silent films, loop after loop until he finally dozed off.

And, if you strolled along a tubular walkway between two districts, away from all the neon, and looked up, you’d find an endless expanse of stars: the longer you looked the more would appear.

It was a special treat, that. On nights when he was feeling particularly generous with his time, or if there was need for celebration, his brother Adriaan would take him and his sister to the highest point in Uachtarach- a round tower ending in a circle of windows- and let them gaze upwards, at the constellations and moon as he explained what each one was and the story behind their names.

And this district, Stad, was one of many such places, different shapes and sizes, all prosperous and neat, but unique every one of them. Luca loved taking his camera to explore them, photographing the scenery and architecture. He especially loved the tunnels on the ground floor, and the lighting that came with them.

In addition to landscapes, he loved photographing his friends, or more specifically, their stylish clothing. Maybe if the accounting dream fell through, he could always become a fashion photographer.

Still, looking at where he was supposed to be wouldn’t actually get him there, so Luca turned around and walked out the door, playing with his hair as he did so.

“Oh, there you are,” his sister, Anri, cheerily greeted, “I was starting to worry you had rusted all up from sitting at your desk all day.”

Luca laughed. “Oh there really is no need to go that far! Not just yet in any case.”

“Well, it really is good to see your face again,” she joked, fiddling with the large coffee machine in the corner. “Want one?”

“Oh, I’m afraid I’m about to take my leave,” Luca sighed; he really wanted a coffee though. He’d been up half the night trying to remember his sums!

“Shall I put one in a travel mug for you?” offered Anri, and he nodded cheerily.

“Thank you!”

“And whilst she does that, you can go and get your gas mask.” Their brother, Adriaan, glared at Luca from over the top of his newspaper, sprawled out in an armchair by the window, and Luca pouted.

“But that thing is so big and bulky!”

“I don’t care,” Adriaan growled, turning his attention back to the paper, “it’s the law. If you can carry that monster of a camera, you can carry a mask.”

“Fine,” Luca sighed and slouched as he shuffled back into his bedroom. No one else paid attention to that law, except his paranoid older brother. That stupid mask was in its box, hanging from a hook by its strap. It was ugly and ruined the aesthetic of his room.

Luca was proud of his interior design, nevermind that it matched the rest of the apartment, and in many ways the rest of Biniveau’s homes. Still, the bright colours of the furniture contrasted beautifully with the plain white walls, and the items themselves were either round or odd shapes, nothing dull or square here.

Except that damned box with its damned mask.

Luca scowled as he pulled the thing down; well, at least if he was wearing it, it couldn’t spoil his room.

He glanced over at the stretch of wall next to the hooks, where he kept his developed polaroids, taped to the wall in a beautiful display, all labelled with the date and location. For a while now, he’d been considering making them into a gigantic map of Biniveau, with its towers and domes, instead of just having them in plain old rows. It would be an interesting project, and he could find out what areas he’d been neglecting to photograph. Maybe he could take some time to sort them after his exams.

“So where are ya off to? Meeting anyone” asked Anri as he re-entered the main room, always nosing about in Luca’s life.

Like his bedroom, it was decorated with bright colours and quirky furniture, the large room giving the place a minimalistic appearance. One stretch of wall, between the front door and bathroom, was decorated with the ugliest wallpaper Luca had ever laid eyes on, whilst the rest of the room had gone for framed photographs and paintings to brighten up the white walls. As Anri fitted the lid on his flask, Luca simply enjoyed the softness of the fluffy round rug under his socks, staring blankly at a game show playing on their tiny telly. The questions seemed a little _too_ easy for him, and he wondered how the contestant could possibly be getting them so wrong.

“Oh, just visiting some friends,” he replied, “we plan to shop for a few hours, maybe take some photographs, just get exams off our mind really.”

“Well that sounds fun!”

“Eighteen is far too old to be larking about,” Adriaan commented, “I thought you wanted to follow in my footsteps.”

“I do, but I need to have fun too! And I work hard,” Luca pouted as he made his way to the door, setting down his camera and gas mask in order to pull on his blazer and gloves.

“Oh pay him no attention,” Anri cooed as she handed him the travel mug, “you go have fun!”

“Thanks sis,” Luca grinned as he slipped out the door.

 

…

 

Everything seemed so slow and calm out here, but at the same time, the world was busy and fast paced. As Luca watched cars dart past him, time seemed to slow down. The people milling around the fountain were sluggish and lazed on benches, and the glaring sun sparked a twinge in his brain just above his eye that would surely evolve into a headache.

Luca took extra care to check for cars as he crossed the street, blinking to try and rid himself of the blurs around the edges of his vision; gosh did his eyes need testing again already? He was too young to be falling apart.

He tried to eavesdrop on people’s conversations as he passed, a habit he picked up from Anri, but caught little information of interest, so he just moved on and on until he reached the entrance to the shopping centre, the hulking, huge shopopolis where his friends stood waiting on the smooth steps. The entrance was an enormous mouth-like monster, held up by pillars most likely resembling a long-extinct culture.

“There you are!” cried Mei, as if she’d been waiting for weeks as opposed to a couple of minutes.

“You naughty boy making us wait,” Monique added scoldingly, “you practically live next to it too!”

Luca squirmed slightly, “sorry, I was finishing up some factorising. Must keep my brain in tiptop condition!”

“Oh my, don’t talk to me about homework,” Mei groaned, “I’ve had enough of that today. The sooner these exams are over, the better.”

“Indeed,” Luca sighed, “then maybe people will finally see us as adults.”

“You’re both adults,” Mei looked between her two friends, “technically.”

“That does not stop Anri from babying me,” Luca complained.

“Francis too!”

“Give them time,” Mei gave a shrug, “they might just be getting used to the concept.”

“Well they should hurry up with it,” Monique waved her hand in a dismissive manner.

Luca, quite keen for a change of subject, looked around at the other young people sprawled out on the steps with books and shopping bags, laughing and joking. No one seemed too worried about the exams, and if someone didn’t know better, they might believe the school year was already over. But Luca could see the panic in their eyes, the slouched posture that revealed just how tired they were, appearances starting to show the cracks of unkemptness.

“Hey,” he began, “do you know where Elise is?” Luca looked around, but sure enough, Monique’s best friend was nowhere to be found. “Is she not coming today?”

“Oh she is,” informed Monique, “she simply became tired of waiting for you and went inside.”

“I was a few minutes late,” Luca pouted before striding past them into the shopping centre.

The interior of the Shopopolis seemed to stretch up and up, illuminated by the glass windows running along the roof and the bright lights of the shops: three levels of the things stacked on top of each other and connected by wide, spacious walkways. Clunky, almost humanoid machines stood outside shop doors, offering everything from sweets to cigarettes to passers by, and there was a hearty buzz of conversation in the air. A pair of speakers above the door buzzed out new sales and deals and closing times. In the middle of the ground floor, people sat on more cute chairs in various neon colours sipping coffee from chipped, floral cups. People flirted and joked and debated as hot and cool food came and went.

“So where to first?” asked Luca, turning round to face the other two.

“Elise said she would wait in the dress emporium,” Mei told him, “so there then?”

“It appears so.” Luca tried to hide his boredom, but did Elise really need more dresses? She and Monique and Mei probably had enough cute, knee-length dresses with wide skirts in polka dots, tartan, stripes and any other pattern to clothe the entire city at this point. Not to mention ribbons and hair bands and shoes and flowers and everything else that could be worn with a dress.

Not that he was one to talk, Luca admitted to himself. He probably had more shirts and braces and ties than a rich old man and spent just as much time shopping as his friends did. But there really wasn’t much else to do here.

“So, how come you have half your room hanging from your shoulders?” asked Mei jokingly, “you look like a Wastelander!”

Ah yes, the mythical Wastelanders, cannibalistic monsters that roamed desolate lands far, far away, used by parents to get their children to eat their greens or go to sleep on time. Get to bed, or the Wastelanders will get you! Come home on time, or I will send the Wastelanders after you! Luca, naturally, had been quite afraid of them as a child.

“Oh there really is no need to go that far!” he exclaimed, “a camera and a gas mask; hardly the mark of a mutated savage, would you not agree?”

“Indeed, how could we call such a fresh-faced boy like yourself a monster!” Monique cupped his chin with a hand, “seriously, Mr Morgens, you have to tell me what you use to get your skin so soft.”

“That shall remain a secret, I’m afraid,” Luca replied weakly. Why was everyone in his life so nosy? How was he supposed to retain a shred of privacy like this?

“A shame, really,” Monique sighed and walked ahead. “Still, you know how Elise hates to be kept waiting.”

She didn’t. Elise was abnormally patient for a person, Luca recalled as he followed. But he, and probably everyone present, was thankful for the change of subject nonetheless.

 

…

 

Everyone giggled and laughed as they set down their bags and Luca peeled the lens ohh his camera, tapping the bulb of his flash ever so lightly.

“Okay, I think if everyone stands by that wall there, we could get some fairly good lighting,” he told his friends.

The four were gathered in a short expanse of tunnel, one of Luca’s favourite spots for fashion photography. A bicycle track ran along one side, with a beige footpath on the other. It was one of the few grimy parts of the city, and even then the dirt was confined to the corners and cracks of the place. It was also one of the few places in Biniveau that contained no windows, but nevertheless, Luca loved its silence and peace, and how the lighting wasn’t glaringly bright.

“Ah, just let me fix my hairband!” Elise did so before straightening her blouse. “Do I look okay?”

“Modest, yet elegant,” Luca replied truthfully. That was Elise’s style: like a brightly-coloured, cute teacher or librarian, whilst Monique tended to wear her skirts shorter than the others, and Mei went for baggy clothing that was cuter than cute, decorated with embroidered animals and flowers. And he himself just wanted to look like he could be taken seriously.

“Come on, Eli!” Monique pulled her forward, so the girl was squished between her two friends. Luca peered through the viewfinder until he was certain the framing and poses were right, then took the picture. They’d all posed for photographs before, but the flash still took them by surprise and Elise nearly tumbled into the wall. Luca paid them little attention as he focused on whipping out the instant picture that had been dispensed, and placing it safely in a pocket to develop.

“My turn!” he cried excitedly as he handed the camera to Monique and dashed over to the wall. Oh what pose would he try today? Something coy, maybe? He pulled his lips into a tiny smile, clawing locks of pale hair to make sure they still covered one eye before placing his hands behind his back.

“Ready,” he called, and Elise and Mei watched closely from either side of Monique as he held the camera up and the flash resounded through the tunnel once more.

“Did I look good?” he asked them as he walked over, and Monique laughed as she handed him the photograph to store away.

“Oh of course,” she told him. “When do you ever not?”

 

…

 

Luca smiled warmly at the stack of developed photographs before returning back to his painting. It had been fun, all of them taking silly photographs in different poses, trying on their new hats and scarves and laughing and joking, nevermind that some of the photographs would turn out blurry as a result.

Yes, Luca had had a fine day indeed, but he was happy to be alone now, relaxing with a text book propped on a tiny easel next to the larger one supporting his canvas; why hadn’t he thought of doing this sooner? This was a fantastic idea!

It was so secure and private in his room, and he could finally be himself and relax. Five floors up, no one would spy him through the window as he painted in front of it, sleeved rolled up and gloves off. He didn’t have to cover up here and he relished in the feeling. His room was the one place he didn’t have to live in fear, which was probably why he tried his best to make it look perfect for himself.

Maybe, one day, the walls of his room could fall away and he’d be free wherever he went.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so we’ve introduced one of our main pair, where shall he go from here?


	3. Iochtarach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andrei- Moldova  
> Alin- Romania  
> Tsvetan- Bulgaria  
> Katya- Ukraine  
> Charlie- Wy
> 
> ...
> 
> Okay, chapter three now. I know things are starting off slow, but we need to set the mood and describe the interior [not exterior] settings that I spent hours thinking about instead of socialising like a normal human being! And get to know the main characters. I’d really appreciate some feedback on this.  
> Oh, and Ms O’Shaughnessy is my Ireland making the tiniest of cameos.

As for our other young hero, oh he lived a very different life to Luca Morgens.

Andrei Radacanu was a resident of Iochtarach, the lowest rungs of the city that might well have been a different country altogether. The two levels had long since been blocked off from each other, and little Andrei wasn’t even aware there was another level on top of him.

In fact, Andrei wasn’t aware of much besides his staircase.

Oh, it was a very big staircase, make no mistake of that! It spiralled down for miles and miles, wide enough to run around a drop in the middle, no handrail to stop those with a clumsy disposition from falling to their deaths, and they did, every now and again. Andrei would sometimes hear their cries from his bed, but thankfully they’d be scraped up by the morning and thrown in an incinerator.

The staircase was the closest Iochtarach had to roads, and every little flat was situated alongside the stairs in a larger, outward spiral. The flats themselves were barely suitable for human habitation, with little in the way of facilities and no running water or windows. Every mile or so, the staircase would flatten out into a tiny courtyard and people would gather around the water pump to talk and play games. That was where the schools and shops usually were, no bigger than the flats themselves and running low on resources.

Most people made a living from a trade, materials supplied from the lowest level that bulged into a series of factories.

Andrei’s brother made clocks, for example.

Alin was good at that, fitting the miniscule parts together with the utmost care. He could make anything from old pocket watches with whirring gears to digital alarm clocks made of wiring and smooth plastic. Unfortunately, no one wanted clocks anymore, if they ever did. Alin had made one for everyone who could afford it by now, and was in a bit of a dilemma.

And that dilemma was making them hungry.

As Andrei darted down the staircase with his little bucket and flask, he wondered just what they were supposed to do. Alin hadn’t sold a clock in weeks, and they were running out of things to barter for food.

He supposed Alin would have to find a new trade, but he didn’t know how to make anything besides clocks, and didn’t desire to change his profession, though he’d considered taking up story writing on top of his other responsibilities. They still had some income- mostly food- coming in, from Andrei’s midwifery apprenticeship, but it wasn’t much and most was used up pretty quickly. The brothers had considered asking friend of the family Tsvetan Borisov to move in with them- he had two jobs- but worried it would raise suspicions, more so than Alin constantly staying the night it his flat.

Andrei dashed past people talking in groups, careful not to fall down the middle; he was still too far away from the ground for that to not be deadly.

The place was always crowded, huge washing lines stretched out across the middle of the staircase, the clothes themselves barely cleaner than they’d been before they were washed. Rubbish too small to bother taking down to the incinerators littered the floor, along with puddles of dirty water, just in case people were having a hard enough time keeping their balance. This stretch of staircase in particularly treacherous, as large chunks had rusted and eroded away; thankfully, Andrei was used to it, and could navigate through a safe passage blindfolded.

The smoke billowing from the factory floor slowly snaked its way through the staircase, joined by fires from people’s homes, and people and waste alike receiving a cremation in the incinerators, and at times the place could almost be impossible to navigate, as well as choking and painful.

This was where having two such creative parental figures came in handy. A few years ago, after taking a fall that was thankfully shorter than his panicked mind had anticipated, Andrei decided it was time to create something useful to avoid a repeat incident, so took an old, broken colander and fixed three large LDR bulbs to it. It seemed to do the trick, he noted as he walked down, his hat still lighting his way, yellow glow still erupting the bronze steps into rays of dull colour, snuffed out by his footsteps.

He saw Katya, leaning against the doorway to her home with a broom in her hands, in conversation with her husband Eduard and old Ms O’Shaughnessy, whose small army of children were dashing about, and one almost knocked Andrei down the stairs.

“Hey, careful there,” he chided, which caught Katya’s attention at least. She smiled warmly at him, resting a hand over her swollen belly, just days from giving birth, and Andrei would probably be helping with the delivery. The boy felt for her, he really did. After all Katya and Ed had been through, they deserved a break in life.

“Oh, Andrei dearie, how are you today?”

“I’m fine thanks, Mrs Von Brock,” Andrei tipped his hat, “just running a few errands.”

“Isn’t he lovely?” cooed Ms O’Shaughnessy.

“I try to be,” Andrei gave a final wave before dashing off.

Andrei loved exploring his staircase, ever since he was little. As long as he didn’t go out at N.I.G.H.T- No Intelligent Geezers Have Trespassed-, Alin generally let him do what he liked. At N.I.G.H.T the place belonged to gangs sporting different coloured armbands and scarves who controlled certain levels, and it you happened to set foot on the wrong level they’d murder you without thought and stuff you in the nearest incinerator. There were no authority figures to go up against them, besides the stair manager, Mr Lovino Vargas, but he couldn’t do much at all. His band of guards tried their best though, shooting anyone caught leaving their homes at N.I.G.H.T, and investigating tip-offs of suspicious activity. It all made Alin more determined that Andrei never left their home at the wrong times.

Still, the gangs never came out during the D.A.Y.- Designated Awake Yarn, so Andrei was free to walk for hours and hours, so long as there was no work to be done.

He’d explored up and down this staircase 7 times altogether- climbing all the way to the top or bottom requiring a whole D.A.Y.’s trek- and although he’d heard rumours about yet more staircases, he’d never found a way to access them. This staircase- Metrou- was all he knew, and even then he tended to stick to his little neighbourhood.

Andrei loved exploring, but he wished there was more to explore. Was there anything beyond the staircase? People had tried to burrow through the walls of their flats to find out before, but the walls were too thick and they’d only succeeded in destroying their tools, though the walls between flats were pretty easy to destroy, which is what they'd done to create schools and larger rooms. But the outermost walls? There was something hard and solid beyond the bronze, but they could never dig that far.

He just had to assume there wasn’t anything beyond their staircase.

As usual, younger children were dashing about outside the school, and several almost ran into him as he made his way towards the water pump, and when he got there two barrelled into him, the younger girl hitting her head on his bucket.

“Oh, careful there, Charlie, Peter,” he warned, lifting his bucket over their heads.

“We will be!” And they were gone again.

Andrei looked around to find that, yes, the entirety of Peter’s little gang of orphans was present. Ever since his parents died, he’d taken care of his eight siblings at their home, providing a safe haven for any kid in a similar position, to save them from the N.I.G.H.T. gangs. He’d never visited their home before, but knew they made little crafts from scrap metal to sell from trays; he even owned a few, which he’d traded for scraps of food and metal. The guards he used for his lower arms were a product of such barter. Maybe one D.A.Y. he could trade for more armour and collect an entire suit.

Andrei set down his bucket and began pumping out pale brown water, using his entire body to pull down the lever of the pump. He was sure if he was stronger, he could get a job in a factory, but at 16, Andrei had the body of a rather weak twelve year old, simply because he never had enough to eat and was always sick. He didn’t understand it, but whatever sickness was going around, he’d catch like it was deliberately out to get him.

Maybe if he had warmer clothes, he’d be less sick. Andrei pondered that as he began to fill his little water flask. His outfit was more or less rags now, belonging to Alin first, whose parents had traded them from another family when he was a child. Well, at least his baggy trousers were holding together, though he was sure coats were meant to have sleeves, and finish past his ribcage. Then there was his shirt. The thing was greying and had more patches than original shirt by now.

He didn’t want to ask Alin for more clothes though, not in their current state. He never would though; he’d always make-do. And the more his clothes fell apart, the more he could practice his sewing patching them up. That was how Andrei was: every disaster brought opportunity, if he thought about it enough. If not, then it brought knowledge, a little life lesson.

Stocked up on water, Andrei pumped some more into his hand to have a quick drink- that’d get him home- and made his way back to the stairs. The orphan gang was still there, throwing a battered ball to each other and shouting excitedly, and he waved goodbye to them before leaving.

He thought about Alin and Tsvetan, and their future. Alin told him everything, and he knew his brother loved the midwife-slash-singer deeply, that Tsvetan and Andrei were the most important people in the world to them, that he wanted them to be a real family. It was impossible though. People just didn’t accept it. That was why Peter and his sibling’s parents had been killed, never mind that they’d taken in half the staircase’s orphan population and given them a home and future. It didn’t matter.

Andrei wanted his brother to be happy. He’d give anything for Alin to be able to continue making clocks in a flat with Tsvetan, happy together and safe from judgement. But until then, they’d get by. Tsvetan would deliver babies when he was called for, and when he wasn’t he was running the Borisov’s Bar and Lounge, not as glamorous as the name let on.

Alin had always told Andrei to do what made him happy, but he didn’t know what that was just yet. Right now he was just trying to make a living, neither euphoric nor miserable, just there and wondering what to do.

Should he follow in Tsvetan’s footsteps as a midwife? Tsvetan would die sooner or later, and then Metrou would need a new midwife, Andrei. Or he could do something with his knitting and sewing, but there were already more than enough tailors and seamstresses. Make more hats maybe? There seemed to be a market for ones that lit up. But he wasn't so good at 'letrics; Alin had helped him make his hat, after all.

Andrei honestly didn’t know what made him happy, besides his brother and Tsvetan.

Alin was sort of just existing too, torn between fretting for their future and waiting for people to need clocks again. His attempts to write amazing stories in the meantime had temporarily been halted by a frustrating case of writer’s block that he couldn’t shake, and for the most part he darted about the flat looking for inspiration, or spent time being not-suspicious with Tsvetan.

Maybe Andrei could have a go at writing, but like his brother he had no idea what to write, or how to, for that matter. He liked to think he had an imagination, but there was only so much a person could D.A.Y.dream of here.

“I’m home!” he called as he threw back the curtain over their doorway, covered in years worth of embroidered patterns he’d designed out of boredom. Every piece of cloth in their home was the same by now, from the blankets on the bed to the dirty table cloth, almost lost under a stack of books. Alin loved books, and had probably collected half the staircase’s supply by now, reading everything from cookbooks to fairytales to diaries of long-dead people whose stories distant relatives placed no value on. Alin had yet to find anything that would suggest a past beyond the staircase though, and even the fairytales were confined to this place, mysteries from darkened flats or cries in the N.I.G.H.T. He’d read mentions of a destructive war in some of the diaries, which he had discussed with his brother, but both had come to the conclusion that it had simply involved the N.I.G.H.T. gangs. This staircase had been here forever, it was pretty clear.

The few spaces in the flat not belonging to the books were also very cluttered, with piles upon piles of plates, cutlery, bowls, clocks, paper, bottles, packets of food, clothes, needles, thread, knitting string, and scraps of metal. Pots, pans and more books hung from the ceiling by lengths of string, and the rug on the floor was almost hidden under dirt. The furnace in the corner was constantly alight, because the flat got cold so easily, and right now a packet’s worth of soup was slowly simmering in a pan.

“I’m back!” he chirped, trying to make himself heard over all the damn clocks. Alin had a fixation with them, he really did.

“Oh good!” Alin got up from his stool, where he’d been hitting his typewriter in frustration trying to think of an amazing story. Ink and dirt stained his jumper, trousers and scarf, and his rolled-up shirt sleeves only succeeded in revealing just how thin he’d been getting.

“At least we can get cleaned up before we go,” he continued.

“Go?” Andrei blinked, “where to?”

“Tsvetan’s, of course!” Alin threw his arms in the air, “I’m sure we could both use some down-time, huh? And some drinks.”

“I must agree with you there, big bro.” Andrei grinned. Tsvetan received a certain amount of alcoholic brew for his bar each D.A.Y. from a man who made them in his room, in exchange for a free meal. In turn, the bar’s food was supplied by the people who grew the fungi to make packet meals, in exchange for a few drinks. The band, too, was paid in food and Tsvetan himself provided the vocals. Andrei and Alin also liked to help out as bartenders and assistants when needed. It was an interesting system Tsvetan had here, and it worked pretty well. The bar was open all D.A.Y., which, with those brews, was enough to get everyone royally sloshed by chucking-out time, just before N.I.G.H.T., which should usually give everyone enough time to crawl home. If not, Tsvetan accepted no responsibilities for any accidents or murder that occurred to his customers.

“Shall we get cleaned up and go then?”

“Oh indeed!”

 

…

 

Washing hadn’t really done much to help, Andrei had to admit as he glanced at his brother’s dirty arms. It never did though, and your efforts were usually ruined by the constant stream of smoke. It was really bad now, as people prepared dinner after a long D.A.Y. to add to the workers downstairs who’d just started their shift and still had the energy to produce steel and copper which sent the bellows mad.

Well, at least they could have a fun few hours before N.I.G.H.T. just singing and dancing and forgetting their woes. Maybe Alin could get a shift and they could eat some dinner there, after a bit of work, that is.

“Oh, you haven’t seen Mr Borisov all D.A.Y.,” Andrei remembered, “I suppose you’re looking forward to seeing him.”

“Maybe I am,” Alin blushed, rubbing his nose. He swayed from side to side as he suppressed a childish giggle.

“Should’ve known.”

“Come on, we’re nearly there,” Alin took his brother’s hand as he lead him down the final stretch of steps.

Borisov’s Bar and Lounge was right next to his flat, and consisted of two properties knocked down in the middle to create a larger room. The sign flickered and buzzed, powered by the same bulbs Andrei used on his hat. Not much else could be seen from the outside, but the brothers could already hear the music- crude drumming and a strange string instrument- playing inside.

As they opened the door, they were greeted with a whole new world altogether.

One end of the room gave rise to a grand stage, bordered by a pair of thick red curtains Andrei had decorated for Tsvetan, and on the other, a barman was already serving drinks. A band played an old-time song for the customers, some of whom were already up and dancing. There were tables and chairs in the corner, but most of the people present were standing and attempting to make noisy conversation, or ordering drinks.

Tsvetan himself was up on stage, singing with that booming, powerful voice that never quite sounded the same when he was speaking. His suit stood out from the other residents’ clothes, as it looked like it was new- and it was, in a way. It was something Andrei had made for him out of some old blankets, in exchange for five packet meals and a bottle of homemade brew, and to this day was still his greatest achievement. Maybe he could crack his way into the tailor business after all.

Alin and Andrei made their way towards the bar to buy drinks whilst they waited for him to finish. Thankfully, Tsvetan didn’t place an age limit on his drinks, despite the health risks (though here, everything was a health risk), like other social buildings, so Andrei could drink to his heart’s content, and had done so from a very young age. He should probably roll back though, given that some of the older drinkers- those in their early thirties- had now gone blind, and he really needed to see what he was making or where he was going.

“So,” began Alin, after exchanging two drinks for a stew packet, “I suppose the best thing to do is dance like we’re not in financial trouble.”

“You said it bro!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope people like it so far. The settings are really fun to write and describe.  
> Poor Alin, though I suppose it’s really hard to write when all you’ve known is a tube, huh?  
> I guess these are a pretty interesting pair of cultures and lifestyles that have developed in the two halves of the city, plus so many in the other staircases that I'll never touch upon; it’s actually a shame what’s going to happen.  
> Also, why do day and night have such dumb meanings here? Because there's no windows thus no way to actually understand a concept of day and night. Yeah I'm in this Pringles can world way too fucking deep.


	4. Cyborgs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheng- Macau  
> Bohumila- Czech Republic  
> Drahoslav- Slovakia
> 
> …
> 
> Oh crap, it’s that few-chapters-in feeling where I start losing motivation, but I shall power through! Is anyone liking this story though? Ah well. I like it.  
> This chapter is a lot shorter than I envisioned, yet it still took ages. Sorry. Blame Undertale, not just for this, just blame Undertale. What did it do? No idea but blame it anyway.  
> I’ll try to update some other stuff now; I have a lot of WIPs on the go, and some are pretty close to being finished. Though I suppose if I only updated this people might try it out, though that would be really unfair of me.

“Oh, I almost forgot to mention this, did you hear?”

Luca yawned and turned to his friend. “I hear a lot of things; it is the beauty of possessing ears. You might want to be more specific.”

His friend, Mei’s older brother Cheng, was stood next to him, leaning against the railing of a walkway high above the district square. The two boys could see the entire district from here, and beyond that clear skies, and were thankful for the peaceful atmosphere after stumbling out of that stuffy exam hall. One exam down, too many to go. Neither Luca nor Cheng were that keen on the sciences, but it wasn’t the worst subject they’d have to face by far. Even thinking about the numeracy made Luca’s head swim; he loved the subject, but if he failed that was his whole life down the drain.

Cheng rolled his eyes. “Funnily enough, I happen to be referring to an interesting- yet tragic- piece of news.”

Luca moved closer. “Well now you have my attention. What did you hear?”

Cheng pulled a face for the tiniest of seconds as he tried to plan what he was going to say.

“These two androids was broken up last night,” he began, “um, I guess they were beaten to death, whatever death is for them.”

“Androids?” Luca raised an eyebrow; he better not have meant…

“Yes, a couple, Bohumila and Drahoslav Jelen. They were found in pieces, apparently. I didn’t look at the photographs.” Cheng winced.

Luca scowled. “The Jelens are not androids,” he growled forcefully.

The tone of his voice caught his friend off-guard. Luca was the kind of person to go out of his way to be polite; he never raised his voice or snapped, or showed any signs of aggression, really, that his friends had seen. Cheng didn’t know what had flipped his switch, but he certainly didn’t want to make things worse. Still, he was used to calmly debating his way out of situations, so took the open approach. “Then what are they? l keep getting these terms muddled up.”

“Ah, cyborgs,” Luca calmed his voice considerably, attempting a friendlier approach in response. “Humans- or organic beings- enhanced with non-organic features. Someone with a mechanical arm, for example, is a cyborg.” He sighed sadly. “The Jelens, all their limbs were mechanical, were they not? Regardless, they were born human, whereas androids are simply inorganic, humanoid robots.”

“Sounds like you read up on the subject,” Cheng commented. “So, it is not just limbs that can make someone a cyborg.”

Luca smiled. “No. It could be something small inserted into your body, or an entire exterior. They really are pretty diverse.”

“So they were a human couple after all.”

“Indeed. The word ‘cyborg’ can be horribly misleading.” Luca wasn’t fond of it anyhow. He thought it was a horrible word. It just made everyone who fell into that category seem less human, like monstrous, terrifying robots that needed to be neutralised. That was probably why they were always being targeted, taken by surprise when they were alone or vulnerable. It was ignorance breeding hate and fear and Luca was sick of it.

The divide had been a problem since he was a child, when technologies thought impossible a century ago were bringing people back from near death. People feared what was created. There were fears the metal people would turn against them, and no one besides the cyborgs themselves and their families knew anything about them, other than it wasn’t right to be tampering with nature in such a way. Anyone who had witnessed their relatives brought back to life or full ability again, however, thought the technology was beautiful, even if it wasn’t yet perfect. Though the way funding was cut and research disrupted, Luca feared the cyborg programme would never move on from it’s early, versatile stage.

“It… I just can’t believe such a thing could happen,” Cheng muttered, “to murder two innocent people because they were, well, different. Makes me scared for anyone who doesn’t really fit into normal.”

“Whatever that is,” Luca added, at least trying to keep the resentment from his voice.

“True.” Cheng tried to smile.

“I’m scared too, at all the distrust flying around. More people will be hurt by it; that’s what usually ends up happening.”

“You seem rather passionate about the subject,” Cheng commented, and Luca felt his stomach drop. He was now? Well, he was, but he didn’t want people knowing that.

“Oh, I do?” He was good at keeping emotions out of his voice, for the most part, and here he liked to think his near-paralysing anxiety didn’t convey itself in his words.

“Indeed, Morgens,” continued Cheng, “I heard there’s a meeting about cybords and their welfare and all that, in light of what’s happened. You might find the whole thing interesting.”

“That does sound interesting, thank you.” Luca smiled warmly.

“Well, it’s tomorrow, noon. I might come along too.” He shrugged, smiling slightly. “I think learning something would be a nice change from revision.”

“I agree,” Luca laughed, “learning something would be a blessing right now.” He nudged his gas mask with his foot; he’d like to know why his brother was so paranoid, for one.

“So what about android’s then?” asked Cheng, “would they count as, well, sentient beings too?”

Luca considered the question. “It depends really. Up for a discussion?”

Cheng grinned. “Oh definitely. So, if we could recreate the electrical signals in the brain…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know why Czech and Slovakia have started to turn up as random characters that get killed off. I like them, but it’s taking a while to get used to them enough to write them being alive.   
> Ugh I hope I can get back into my writing mindset again though; things were going so well! And damn I have so many sad things planned for this story!


	5. War of Destruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don’t know what happened. This chapter was just a little bitch to write. Plus the content became rather painful to write lately, so I had to take a break. If you follow me on tumblr you’ll see why when you read this. Either way, I plan to be more frequent with my updates for this. I really like the world and story here!

Andrei had just been getting comfortable.

He glared through the blankets and Alin’s arm, hoping maybe Tsvetan would burst into flames or be a hallucination so he wouldn’t have to get out of bed. It wasn’t that he minded work, but it just seemed like Katya would give birth at the worst possible time. N.I.G.H.T. would be falling on them soon, and they would barely have enough time to get to Katya and Ed’s flat before the gangs came out to play, never mind getting back before D.A.Y. They’d have to sleep over, though, judging by how well Katya’s previous pregnancies had gone, and how this one had, too, been riddled with complications, Andrei suspected they were all in for one long and stressful N.I.G.H.T.

“Come on,” Tsvetan urged, shaking Alin’s shoulder, “I am afraid I need to borrow your little brother.”

“Take him,” Alin mumbled, burying his face in his pillow.

“He is trapped under your body.”

With a grunt, Alin rolled over, and Andrei squirmed at the rush of freezing air, wrapping his blanket tighter around him. 

“Get up,” Tsvetan growled, poking him in the stomach, and the kid squealed. 

“I’m up!” Andrei dragged himself out of bed, throwing on his jacket and hat and bidding goodbye to his already sleeping brother. Even though their flat was crowded to breaking point, Alin still looked so small wrapped up under their blankets. He hadn’t been eating well and spent a large amount of his time sleeping or moping around. Alin hadn’t left the flat in D.A.Y.s, since their last visit to Borisov’s bar and lounge, falling deeper and deeper into worry and financial ruin. At this point, it was solely Andrei’s income keeping them alive.

Alin always said Andrei had grown up too fast, but did anyone really have a choice here? And what did Alin even mean? You started work the moment you were twelve here and didn’t stop until you dropped dead, at forty if you were lucky, and few were. So what if Andrei had started doing odd jobs at a slightly earlier age? So did many children. And especially since their parents fell to their deaths whilst looking for something to barter for Andrei’s tenth birthday present and Alin’s mental and physical health slowly deteriorated. 

A lot of people here seemed to be in a similar predicament to Alin: sluggish and miserable, wanting more but being unable to contemplate anything outside their world. Andrei tried his best, really, helping out where he could and trying to bring a little light to this dark existence, but everyone was slowly drifting beyond his help, even Alin. He didn’t know how to save his brother and it killed him inside. What if he could never get Alin back? What if he would only watch as the life ebbed out of his brother? Then he’d be alone in this world with no idea what to do.

He followed Tsvetan outside, where everything was still and silent, save for the clanking in the factories far below and the drip drops of water spilling from the stairs above. Everyone was inside now, waiting for the cling-clang of the alarm to tell them N.I.G.H.T. had fallen upon them, and the two midwives would have to be quick if they didn’t want to get caught out.

The Von Brocks' flat wasn’t too far from here, so Andrei set off ahead, lighting the way for the other and taking care to step over the cracks and rubbish and not fall to his death. 

They could hear Katya’s moans a floor away, Tsvetan pausing before their curtain door to give Andrei’s hand a squeeze. The little apprentice had been there for the delivery of their last baby, and he still held those painful memories engraved into his mind. Hopefully this time round things would go smoothly and they’d be leaving behind a happy little family.

He glanced up to find Tsvetan as apprehensive as he was, gripping the handle of his bag of equipment a little too tightly. But they couldn’t hide out here forever, and Katya had already been forced to do this alone long enough, so the two pulled back the curtain and stepped inside.

 

…

 

Andrei ignored the sweat streaming from his forehead as he washed blood and gunk from his hands in the little basin of water. The room was a mess of noise, of Katya’s sobs and the crash of Eduard throwing their possessions to the ground in his rage. Tsvetan was struggling to let his words of comfort and condolence be heard over all this, not that Katya wanted to hear it anyway. Andrei alone remained silent as he stared down at the blood swirling in the brown water at his feet. The crouch he’d forced himself into was starting to ache, but he refused to look back. He needed this time. He needed to force down the sickness churning through his stomach and the tears threatening to ruin his professional air. It was nearly D.A.Y. now though they could’ve been here forever.

Katya had refused to part with her dead child, wrapped in cloth and clutched to her chest. She looked half-dead herself from the effort of another stillbirth, her fifth, nightdress covered in blood and she’d refused to take off her scarf when Tsvetan asked, though her face was slicked with sweat. 

Children died all the time here. A couple could have fifteen babies and not one make it to adulthood; Andrei knew, but it didn’t make his job any easier. A cold sweat spread across his skin as he remembered the last time, exactly the same. Katya and Ed had even stopped picking out names for their unborn children.

What made their story so tragic, so appalling, was the state of their stillborn children. All five had come out with various birth defects: extra fingers, insides on the outside, misshapen limbs and facial features, to name a few. And this child had been particularly harrowing to look at. Andrei had avoided staring too closely as he held the thing, wrapping it in a blanket to cover the intestines that spilled out and the seven toes on one foot. There was nothing that could be done, and the baby would join its siblings in one of the incinerators.

Eventually, he turned around to find Ed had gone silent too, slouched and seemingly calm, save for his white, shaking hands. It was too much, too much to bear after so long. He glared at the ground as his wife’s wails tortured his mind, but he couldn’t cry. There was no room left for tears after all this. Even Tsvetan had gone silent, and Andrei didn’t want to be the one to get things talking again.

D.A.Y. came, and outside, people began milling about, moving up and down the stairs. Children shrieked as they ran past, which only succeeded in bringing a fresh wave of tears to Katya’s eyes. Andrei wondered if he should fetch some clean water, but couldn’t bring himself to move. 

It was Katya that finally spoke, gently breaking the silence with a fragile, raspy voice.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Eduard stirred, by her side in an instant and clutching her damp hand.

“No,” he told her, “this was not your fault. It is never your fault.”

“Five babies,” Katya choked, blood dribbling from her mouth that she elected to ignore, though it didn’t go unnoticed by Tsvetan, closely observing the couple from his seat. 

“Some people lose more; it is not the end of the world. I know how tough this is, but we can try again.”

“You know we cannot,” Katya leaned towards him, resting her head on his arm as she coughed weakly. “That is why I must apologise. I hoped I could at least leave you with a child.”

“You aren’t leaving me anytime soon;” Eduard crying was a rarity for sure, and not something Andrei had seen before. 

“Now you know that’s not true.” Katya’s hand twitched upwards, a flickering movement towards her neck that Andrei almost missed, barely able to register before it was back to supporting her lifeless child’s neck.

“Katya Von Brock,” Tsvetan growled, voice low and even, “is there something you have been keeping from medical professionals?” Ever the sensitive people person.

“You are a midwife, not a doctor, Borisov, but afraid so,” Katya was leaning heavily on her husband’s shoulder now.

“Katya is ill,” Eduard informed gravely, “but there is nothing to worry about. She will recover in due time.”

“I will not,” whispered Katya, glare sending her husband’s eyes darting to the ground. “You do not just recover from cancer.”

Andrei wished he could stop his hands from shaking as he stood up, knees trembling as he ignored the water dripping only the already messy brass floor. What was Katya saying? And why hadn’t she told anyone? Cancer was rare down here, in fact, Andrei had assumed it was a fictional illness before now; no one he knew ever talked of it. Was that it? Did she think people would not believe her? Would panic? Would see her as unclean? Nothing in this place was clean so how would she stand out?

But Katya was not dying, surely?

“Auntie Katya,” he began, inching forward. Every older woman was an auntie to him, like every man was an uncle, but Katya was especially close to him, and had practically raised him with Alin since his own parents died. She was the mother he’d barely known, he was the son she couldn’t birth, and he needed her in his life more than he needed air.

“Auntie Katya,” he repeated once by her side, “come on, there has to be something that can be done. You can’t be dying!”

“I am.” And that was the first time he’d seen Katya remove her scarf in months. At the base of her neck was a lump, around the size of an egg, that looked so painful Andrei jumped back with a hand to his own skinny neck.

“It’s spread,” Katya explained, “the lumps, all over. I don’t have long left. I thought I would at least leave Eduard with a child before I went.”

“You’re not dying,” Eduard whispered. He was trying to stay calm, Andrei could see. His face was expressionless though his eyes burned. 

“I have been dying these past few days,” stated Katya, and she truly looked exhausted, ready to slip under at any minute. Under any other circumstance, Andrei would have simply put it down to her difficult ordeal, but as he stared at that horrid lump, he had to wonder if his beloved Katya would survive the D.A.Y.

“Come on, Katya,” Tsvetan spoke up, “your luck must turn at some point, surely. This could be the thing you finally recover from.”

“Well I have to say, my dear cousin,” Katya’s voice was little more than a rasp now, “I admire your optimism, a rarity for you, I must comment.”

Tsvetan shrugged. “If you think anyone in this room is willing to lose you, then you must have inhaled some strange factory fumes.”

Katya rested a hand on Tsvetan’s, and Andrei moved closer to sit on the bed with her. The three men were her guard, ready to protect her in any way they could, even though there seemed to be nothing they could do except comfort as she travelled to the other side. “Thank you,” she whispered, “but these… problems, they have plagued my family since the War of Destruction.”

Andrei leaned forward, his attention entirely on the murmurs of the dying woman.

“That silly brawl Alin told me about?” Tsvetan raised an eyebrow, “this place is too small for an all-out war.”

“This place isn’t the beginning or the end of existence,” Katya explained. “My parents told me. There is wide space and a whole other world outside but we have forgotten because no one lives beyond thirty here. We are too busy trying to survive that stories of the past were a hindrance. They do not put food on the table.”

“So,” began Tsvetan, “of this world you speak of, how do you know about it?”

Before Katya could speak, Eduard intervened, moving his hands around her shoulders, burying his face in her short hair. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, “who cares for talk of this when we must save Katya?”

“You cannot save me,” Katya replied simply.

“Then let us make sure you are comfortable and happy. No talk of war, please.”

“It needs to be said, Eduard Von Brock. Someone has to remember.” 

“I don’t care.” Andrei thought he heard the man sob. 

“I do. Please, my dear, let me speak of this, as my dying wish.” 

“You are not dying.”

Katya threw Eduard a warm smile that he never saw. “But then surely you would not have a problem with my talking about this.”

Eduard couldn’t reply. 

“Just listen to my voice,” she told him, “I fear this may be the last thing I say with it.” Andrei didn’t like her voice. He used to, when it was soft and melodic, when it had a commanding, but gentle presence. Now it was weak, a shadow of it’s old glory, like the human who possessed it. 

“The war killed billions,” she told them all.

“How could there have been so many people?” Tsvetan’s eyebrows shot up, “that’s a head-hurting fact right there.”

“Well they all turned to dust,” was all Katya could say to that, “or burnt, or died of sickness. And so many who survived that later died of illness. Ten years, the world stood dying and the people just suffocated underground. Children were born mutated, much like our poor dears. You could not go outside for fear of the very air burning you and filling your body with tumours.”

“How horrible,” Andrei piped up.

“Indeed. When Iochtarach was finally built, the civilians- those not in positions of power, were crowded here. We were not crowded for long, I remember my mother saying, as anyone who was ill was taken away, never to be heard from again.”

“Why?” Asked Andrei.

“Cannot have sick people spreading sickness everywhere, though as far as I am aware, cancer is not contagious. Not to mention, who would want such a reminder? They may not have been heard from, but they were smelt again, burning down in the incinerators. I am sure you all are familiar with that smell.” The other three all wrinkled their noses instinctively. 

“My parents hid their sickness like I have,” Katya’s eyes were beginning to droop now, “they died young though. Lumps started in the throat. That’s where they often start. I’ve noticed when other people hid them, even as a child.”

“That must have been difficult to grow up with,” Tsvetan murmured, voice little more than a deep rumble now.

“I had a brother and sister too, younger than me,” Katya continued, “they died as babies. Born like mine, with defects. Even I was born with a club foot, as I am sure you all noticed at some point.”

“Never wanted to ask,” mumbled Andrei.

“You know, I have to wonder, after all this, if it was worth me even being born;” Katya looked so small and fragile as she said that, and Andrei could see Eduard’s heart shatter.

“No,” he whispered, harsh and firm, “never say that.”

“But then I would not have had to live a life of pain,” she reasoned, “and you could have had a wife who would live longer and not give you dead children.” She would not last much longer, Andrei realised, as the her face creased and greyed before his very eyes. Her lips had lost their colour, thin and cracked and caked in dry blood. The only shine to her came from the sweat covering every inch of her skin, soaking her nightness along with the blood and gunk, everything else about her was monotone, almost lifeless. 

Eduard was broken, but through his sorrow he held his wife and child. “Don’t say that,” he choked, “there must have been times in your life that were worth living through, right?”

“Maybe, but the pain… I’m sorry...” 

“Katya Vynnychenko Von Brock,” he hissed, “you are the light of my life and always have been, since the day we met. You being born is the best thing to happen in our cursed world.”

“You’re the mum I never had,” Andrei added, “you taught me how to knit!”

“I love you so much,” whispered Eduard, “without you, my world would have been so dark. It will be so dark.”

“At least now I can look after our children,” Katya smiled at the thought, “I’ll be a good mother to them all, wherever we will end up.”

“I would not have doubted for a second.”

As Katya fell silent, he held her close, the child lost between them and neither Tsvetan nor Andrei could tell where one started and the other ended. Eduard’s muffled wails were the only noise in the room as they lay on the bed, Andrei sat beside them crying silently whilst Tsvetan tried his best to wordlessly comfort the boy, rubbing his back as Andrei tried to see through the tears.  He removed his hat, bringing it to his chest. He needed to move, to clean everything up for Eduard, but right now he felt the world was about to come crashing down. Yes, he was familiar with his old friend death, but that certainly didn’t mean they liked each other, or that he was used to saying goodbye.

Katya was in her mid twenties, not young but hardly at dying age. Sure, ‘dying age’ here was anything beyond birth, and sometimes even before, but the idea of Katya gone was too much. He half-expected a stillbirth, like every other pregnancy of hers, but the plan was to comfort Katya, give her hope that she and Eduard could try again when they were ready, not be there on her deathbed. The hole in his chest and anvil weighing down his mind at least distracted him from the gargantuan task of processing everything Katya had told them, because that was something that would take him D.A.Y.s, when he was ready to pull himself out of the inevitable slump.

Alin would be devastated too. So many people would. Katya had touched the lives of dozens of Iochtarach's residents, and the world would indeed be a dark place without her, something not even Andrei could fix on his own.

He had never felt so powerless in the face of tragedy in his life, and that alone made him feel as fragile as the dead baby he'd just delivered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thyroid cancer, if you want the specifics of Katya’s illness. God this chapter was a cunt to write. I feel sick, but at least I won’t have to deal with that topic again in this story, hopefully.   
> It feels odd writing EstKraine actually wanting and having children. It’s not a path I really headcanon for them, but here I needed to for plot and stuff.  
> Also, from what I’ve read, I highly doubt effects of radiation affect families this far down the line, at least not from real life nuclear weapons. In this world I imagine they’ve been made different, and technology is just that bit more destructive, though it’s pretty rare. The physics student inside me died just typing that bullshit...


	6. The Leveller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erikur- Iceland  
> Xiang- Hong Kong  
> Désirée- Nyo France
> 
> …
> 
> Sorry this is a little late, again. When I was actually writing this, it was flowing pretty quickly, but I just kept taking bigass gaps between writing sessions and trying to complete stuff for other fics. I don’t think this will be a particularly long saga of a fic, so it shouldn’t be impossible to finish. Not that my longer fics are impossible to finish, haha.

It was warm, as usual, sun near blistering as Luca stepped out into the main square outside his building. Already, there was a considerable crowd drawn towards a centre stage, erected over the night just in front of the fountain. Others passed on their way to the shopopolis, interests piqued but not enough to linger. There were things to buy, of course! 

Luca honestly hated it when the weather was this hot; his head seared with pain and the blur in his eyes was worse now. Yet, despite that, he was wrapped up warm, arms covered in a pale lilac shirt, everything hidden down to his fine white gloves. His ankle boots were heavy and uncomfortable, but his trousers were getting a bit on the short side and he didn’t want to risk an ankle flash. Children were running about the square wearing body armour and shooting each other with toy laser guns that shot water instead in an attempt to cool down. Luca tried his best to avoid them.

Two little boys, however, did not seem aware of his attempts to keep his clothes clean, and bounded over, handguns trained on him as he raised his own arms in surrender. 

“Don’t,” he begged, half jokingly.

“Come on,” a little blond boy, Erikur, piped up, “we have a spare gun!”

“We even made you your own vest!” the other child, Mei’s youngest brother Xiang, held up a padded piece of chest armour a tad small for Luca, and the young man grimaced with the awkwardness.

“Well, that is so sweet of you to do,” he took the thing, at least, clipping it on to appease the little boy, “I’m afraid I still have to pass. I have to stay dry and smart for the talks.”

“Why do grown ups have to be so boring,” Xiang kicked his leg playfully before the two ran off. A few metres away, Anri hid a giggle behind her hand.

As Luca made his way back to his siblings, he couldn’t help revelling in how peaceful things were, and the turnout too! Maybe his family weren’t alone after all. Well, he knew there were others who saw cyborgs as human beings, but didn’t for a minute think it was this many. No one had caused any trouble in the short amount of time the Morgens siblings had been walking about, despite people walking about with noticeable prosthetics. There were politicians and celebrities milling about too, the latter usually accompanied by a crowd begging for autographs, including a singer Luca himself admired and had a notice board of newspaper clippings of. 

Désirée Bonnefoy was wearing the most beautiful sleeveless dress- a throwback to the fashion of a few decades ago- showing off her prosthetic arm, sleek and metallic and covered in roses drawn by fans, from intricate, beautiful artwork to little scribbles from her youngest admirers. She was the beacon of cyborg rights activism, and even many of those who feared the cyborgs loved her and her music- she was the exception. People loved Désirée even if they hated their neighbours. 

Luca wondered if she would mind yet another signing, but decided to put it off. He wanted her to know how important she was to him, and what her music meant to so many people, but the crowds scared him and he didn’t want them hearing anything he had to say.

With a sigh, he rejoined Anri and Adriaan, clutching and sipping from cans of drink they’d bought at a nearby stall. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, at least. 

“Lovely day,” Anri commented, and Luca simply nodded.

“A bit hot,” Adriaan complained for him. 

“Are you holding up fine?” And there she was again, fussing over Luca and treating him like he was fragile and still a little baby.

“As well as can be expected,” he replied politely, and she left it at that. 

Adriaan was wearing one of his usual boring suits, seemingly unaware of how stuffy he looked in his thick blazer, whilst Anri had opted for one of her summer dresses, a bright red affair that matched her lipstick. There was often little to do here besides judge others’ clothes, and even on a day like this, Luca found himself sizing up his family and everyone else here when his mind was idle for more than a few seconds. 

“The first talk starts in a few minutes,” Anri informed him, “some doctors talking about the history of the cyborg programme and the science behind it. Then some cyborgs- a teacher, an accountant, a politician, a monorail driver, and Ms Bonnefoy- talking about their experiences, and then some charity representatives.”

“Sounds wild,” Luca joked, “so, I guess we should make our way over and, you know, try to get seats near the front, I suppose.”

“I doubt that would be a good idea,” Adriaan spoke firmly, “I cannot see this ending without some form of violence, no matter how small, and as peaceful as things are now, if someone starts a riot, I would much rather you two be at the back where we can leave quickly.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” Anri sighed.

“Not to mention,” Adriaan added, “tickets for the back seats were that bit cheaper, and I am sure you will not notice the difference.”

Luca rolled his eyes, trying not to spoil his face with an unsightly scowl. Still, over by the back were Mei and Cheng, seated and talking animatedly to each other. So they turned up after all! He was, however, disappointed to see a lack of Elise or Monique, who had also mentioned they might turn up to listen, and although he understood they all still had exams and he too should really be at home studying for his languages written exam, he couldn't help being saddened. Today was too important to miss. He was grateful, however, that at least two friends were present at all. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” he told his siblings, making his way over to the seating area with a cheer and a wave. The heat was getting worse, almost unbearable, and he wondered why the temperature hadn’t been turned down yet. Uachtarach was programmed to be warm, toasty, not this horrendously hot and he hated the weather as it was without their biosphere malfunctioning. Still, surely everything would be fixed soon and order restored. He liked a bit of order to his life, Luca did.

“Enjoying the show?” he queried as he drew closer to the Wang siblings. If Xiang was here running about it should’ve made sense the rest of his family would be nearby, but the heat was frying Luca’s brain through his skull and he couldn’t think straight. 

“Oh yes,” Cheng replied, “I really love the atmosphere. I was not expecting things to be so, you know,” he waved a hand, “calm. Civil, even.”

“Oh I understand completely,” Luca replied, “I know my brother has had similar worries.”

“I for one am just happy to be out and about,” Mei shrugged, “I think my brain was about to melt if I had to read another page of politics.”

Luca nodded. He for one could not take another minute of revision, even if they all had exams tomorrow. “Agreed.”

“Unfortunately the others did not seem to agree,” explained Mei, “Elise and Monique told me to tell you they were rather busy studying, though Monique said she might pop by later if she fancies a break.”

“I see. Well one cannot fault them for caring for their education,” Luca’s chuckle rang out like bells, a little forced through his disappointment. He didn’t even know all his friends showing up to this would be so important to him. “I wish I had their resolve to stay inside.”

“Likewise,” Mei joked, “but today is so beautiful and this is for a good cause!” She sighed, contented.

“Indeed it is.”

“I must ask,” began Cheng, “why do you feel so strongly about this topic?”

That got Luca. He opened his mouth, unable to form a coherent reply before mentally shaking himself and choking out an answer. “I am a big-hearted fellow,” he stated simply, “I am always happy to help out those less fortunate than myself.”

He wondered if he could risk confiding his biggest secret to them both, right here and now. It would be so easy to get it out in the open and deal with the consequences as they came. Cheng and Mei wouldn’t care at all! They would be supportive of this. But there was always the question of Monique and Elise. What would they make of it?

He didn’t want to risk outing himself, especially here where anyone could be listening and willing to name names to whoever wanted a target. Once it was out, there was no going back and nothing to stop things spiralling out of control. Adriaan with his money and influence couldn’t protect him in this climate.

Luca glanced over at the stand, where the first speaker was preparing to give their talk and almost everyone else was already seated, Mei and Cheng were pulling him to their own little chairs. Now wasn’t the time for private discussion anyway.

This wasn’t a decision he could rush, Luca knew, and even now he needed more time to decide.

After the talks though, he’d know one way or another what to do. Only after then would he decide if he should confide in them.

 

…

 

“Neither of you are going to like this news,” Tsvetan was saying, “especially after what happened last N.I.G.H.T.”

Alin was only half-listening, like how he half-invested in everything else now. He was staring at Tsvetan from his desk, but his eyes looked not in the room. Andrei didn’t know where Alin’s mind was- a pit, probably- but he didn’t want to find out, only somehow bring him back to this still awful but slightly less unbearable world. Somehow.

“What happened?” he asked Tsvetan instead.

Tsvetan wasn’t one for flowery language and beating around the bush, and he gave his dreadful news in a short, sweet grunt. “Eduard is dead.”

“What?” Andrei’s eyebrows shot up, “come on, that’s not funny.”

His mind couldn’t take anymore news and secrets and tragedy. His brain span and boiled and he swore it would come trickling out his ears at any moment now. How was there a world outside this staircase? Well, Andrei had always suspected something might be there, more tunnels, perhaps, but wide open spaces were something he couldn’t comprehend. Did Katya mean like the space in the middle of the staircase, but bigger? Was there a ginormous staircase that had been destroyed in the war?

And, on top of that and mourning Katya’s death- something he hadn’t even began to digest- he was supposed to process the news that Eduard wasn’t alive anymore either?

“I don’t joke,” Tsvetan replied flatly.

“I know,” Alin piped up, voice thin and listless.

“Be that as it may, Eduard was killed last N.I.G.H.T. by one of Vargas’ men.”

“Did they think he was a gang member?” Andrei wondered what the hell Eduard was doing outside. At N.I.G.H.T. Had he lost all will to carry on? Had he wanted to die or simply not cared if he lived another day?

“They thought he was a murderer,” Tsvetan corrected, “there were news bulletins outside my bar earlier toD.A.Y..”

“What?” even Alin was invested now, “that is absurd! We all know Katya died giving birth.” His face wobbled; Katya’s passing was not something anyone was getting over fast.

“Well, according to the bulletin, Eduard was believed to have killed his wife and infant and was shot on sight when he tried disposing of the evidence in the incinerator.” Tsvetan leaned back on the bed, happy to have the full attention of his audience. 

“But we were there,” Andrei protested, “we we re witnesses to the fact that Katya died of terminal illness!”

“Witnesses say a lot less than guns,” Tsvetan sighed, “and who knows, I have been pondering and I do not think this is simply a case of Eduard being outside at the wrong time.”

“Are you suggesting a conspiracy?” Alin’s fingers twitched in his lap and his mouth spread into the tiniest of smiles.

“Possibly. I mean, if we are to completely believe what Katya told us- and I for one see no reason not to- then there is a possibility they just didn’t want to admit they let one escape.”

“‘They’ who?” Andrei drew closer, “and let one what escape?”

“Someone who was ill from the war, someone who hid their sickness from everyone,” Tsvetan peeked behind him, back at Alin and Andrei’s tiny window covered by a rag to block out light, noise and unwanted snoopers. “Vargas and his men probably knew what went on and they have been continuing to orchestrate the kidnappings and murders of everyone sick since we were shoved down here. They couldn’t have people finding out about Katya’s real condition, could they? Especially since they worked so hard at containing the problem only to have Katya’s parents defy them.”

“So killing Eduard and blaming him for murder was their way of getting rid of word getting out?” asked Andrei, “you know, getting rid of the witnesses and all?”

“You don’t think they would come after you two as well though?” Alin dragged his chair closer to the bed, where the other two sat huddled together in apprehension. Now that his brother had said that, Andrei half-expected their door curtain to be ripped from its pole and everyone in the room shot on sight. “You were there when Katya passed on, after all.”

“They wouldn’t,” the boy whimpered, “surely. How could they know we were there?”

“It would not be out of the question to assume the only two midwives in Metrou were out delivering a baby.”

“And what with you being Katya’s cousin,” Alin added, “they might fear your family illness, as it were, resides in you too.”

“But cancer is not contagious, everyone knows that,” Tsvetan frowned, “and I am a mere distant cousin, hardly worth bothering with.” Nevertheless, he looked worried at the thought and once more glanced behind him.

“I do not think you will get off that easy,” murmured Alin. He stood up, holding his two dearest close, trembling as his clammy hands clutched their shoulders. “Oh please be okay, my loves.”

 

…

 

Their patrol was taking them further from their designated route, Arthur knew, and although he could see it was upsetting Ludwig to not follow orders to the fullest, he was bored of the same routes, the same fallout levels barely improving over the five years he'd been working here, the same lifeless landscape. Not to mention, he’d just seen something he hoped to God was just his imagination.

_They_ weren’t meant to survive.

Biniveau was the last beacon of humanity. Every enemy had been wiped out and the price the citizens of this land paid had been dear indeed. And now was he really seeing another land, off in the far distance, that told their sacrifice had been in vain? The war wasn’t over and won, after all?

Ludwig kept quiet, glare following the patrol car identical to theirs, flying into the afternoon sun a good mile or two away, presumably back to its own city, just beyond their range and nothing but a black line on the horizon.

“What should we do?” he asked slowly. 

“There’s only one thing we really can do,” Arthur replied, pulling out a handheld radio from the dashboard, “we need to inform HQ. The entire city could be in danger.”

Ludwig nodded as he watched his partner click the top of the radio and it crackled to life. “Patrol car 2304, reporting into high-command,” he growled, “we’ve detected signs of life from an enemy settlement 200 miles west. Ready The Leveller and await further orders. Over.”

'The Leveller' was an atom bomb, a reconstruction of pre-war bombs made from blueprints saved and hidden in a bunker with the people who made the others, only ten times more powerful than those used to destroy the world last time. It was one of a stockpile kept just in case. Who knew what was out there?

Enemy settlements, for one.

“Is that necessary?” Ludwig asked, glancing over nervously. “They might have peace terms for us. They might want a ceasefire. They’re probably as surprised as we are.”

“Possibly,” Arthur agreed, “I just want to be ready. If they think of taking us down, I want them to go with us.”

“Oh course,” Ludwig’s eyes trailed to that vehicle in the distance, now joined by something far larger and headed right towards them.

“What on earth,” Arthur could only whisper as it drew nearer and nearer, slowly tearing through the murky sky and eventually soaring overhead, seeming to ignore them completely. The thing was a large carrier plane, dull grey in colour with a roaring engine and the belly of a pregnant horse and neither of them liked it one bit.

“It’s headed straight for Biniveau,” Ludwig spat in a terrified whisper, “what should we do?”

Arthur glanced forward at that first car, still flying back to its city on the horizon, solitary and determined. “We have to follow the plane,” he muttered, “if it has malicious intents, we need to know as soon as possible.”

He twisted the steering wheel with enough force to nearly tear the thing from the dashboard, sending Ludwig into the window. He grumbled and rubbed his temple as he glared at his colleague, now speeding after the plane with his tongue between his teeth. Yet no matter how fast Arthur drove, the plane continued to pull ahead and as the dot that was Biniveau grew into a blob to a fuzzy city in the sky.

It it was there the plane stopped going forward, but up, and the pair shuddered to halt and just watched. The plane continued upward until they could barely see it, and as Arthur was about to follow it, Ludwig grabbed his shoulders and pointed up.

“Look!” he cried, but Arthur had already seen it.

The bottom of the plane fell open, and out plummeted a fat green bomb, nose-diving straight towards them.

“Fall back!” Ludwig grabbed the wheel, turning the car away as Arthur grabbed the radio once more.

“Patrol car 2304 to high-command!” he screamed, “code red! Code red! Deploy The Leveller ASAP 200 miles west and prepare for a storm! Biniveau is under attack!”

As he shouted the orders down to HQ, Ludwig drove them further away as their world erupted into blinding light, hot beyond belief and choking as they boiled alive in their car for the few seconds before they turned to dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh it’s all happening now! Finally, the action’s picking up.  
> Also, like my name for Nyo France? Just something I thought of trying, and I personally think it’s a very pretty name. I like using alternate names for the nyotalia characters. Anyone else feel like their most popular names are forever tainted by bad fics and interpretations? Same with popular fanon names for characters with no official ones. Y’know?


	7. Perish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s recommended you listen to ‘Nuclear attack’ by Sabaton while reading this, since that’s what I was listening to while writing this. And the song's freaking incredible.

Now the heat was unbearable.

Luca squirmed, tugging at his collar though he didn’t dare remove any layers. His brain was boiling, every inch of him was painful to touch, and when he glanced over at the others, they looked just as ill, Mei forcing her hair into a messy plait to stop it from burning her neck and back. On her lap, Xiang whined as he lay slumped and utterly uncomfortable. Even Adriaan, three seats down, had taken off his blazer, though that hadn’t seemed to have helped much. Everyone was slicked with sweat, and Luca grimaced at the sight, and smell. Everyone seated was clearly in pain, muttering to their neighbours and not even noticing how the speaker had fainted onstage.

“Can they not do something about the weather?” Cheng hissed to no one in particular, and Luca was inclined to agree.

He couldn’t breathe. His brain pounded against his skull until his vision swam and he thought he would keel over. Cheng did. The boy sank to the floor and no one could bring themselves to help him back up.  Anri groaned, swaying dangerously. They would all die of dehydration if they weren't careful.

And that was when it happened.

“Look!” cried Anri, pointing to the sky.

Everyone within earshot glanced upwards at the glass dome above their heads. A boom in the distance shook the very ground they stood on, Luca tumbling out of his seat, sprawled on the grass as he watched the glass above crack. A chip appeared above them all, and no one said a word as it snaked across the sky, shattering the entire dome within seconds.

Luca couldn’t get up to run as he gaped at the horrific view. Glass plummeted towards them all, finally revealing the truth.

For a split second, he saw it all. He saw the facade crumble to reveal a sick, grey world. There was no sky, only a sea of yellow clouds and hot, thick air that was like soup to breathe in. 

There was no time to ponder this horrifying discovery, for as soon as the glass fell away, the world tilted and a boiling wind blasted them all back.

 

… 

 

Down in Iochtarach, the perpetually unfortunate residents were far less aware of the true nature of their impending doom, preoccupied with the earthquake that was tearing through their numerous cities and destroying everything in its wake. In Metrou, Andrei curled into a ball on his bed as everything shook and Tsvetan darted to the doorway to investigate the commotion. 

Clocks fell from the shelf and crashed to the floor with a clatter, some bursting apart and the noise unbearable as it mixed with the screams and cries of those above and below. 

The air burned too, hot and thick, like a pan of gruel poured over his head. Smoke billowed from below as the factories were destroyed and molten metal spilled everywhere, melting holes through the floor for the residents to fall through to their deaths, last moments filled with the image of a world they’d never known. A world all too happy to see them dead.  But Andrei knew very little of this, only aware that they might all be about to die.

“What is happening?” he wailed as Alin threw his arms around him.

“Get away from there!” the older boy cried to his partner but it was too late, the world turned and, with a bellow, Tsvetan tumbled forward, disappearing into the hole running through the staircase.

“No!” Andrei felt his brother’s arms rip themselves away from him as Alin ran to the window, tearing down the curtain but not daring to go near the door. “Tsvetan!” The raw horror in his voice tore at Andrei’s soul, his brother’s screams added to those of his home. But Tsvetan was gone, probably lying splat next to a water pump. A broken water pump Andrei noted, chancing a glance up to find burst pipes and murky water joining people and possessions falling past their flat.

“Alin!” he howled, “please I’m scared!”

His brother tore himself from the window and his grief, staggering across the room to a particular pile of their belongings, Andrei completely bewildered and unable to join him due to being paralyzed with terror. He clutched the blankets, screaming as Alin dug through their clutter, apparently oblivious to the unbreathable atmosphere quickly choking them both.

Andrei’s eyes watered, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, gasps unable to give him a clear breath of air. This was it. He would die here.

“Alin,” he rasped, voice barely carrying past his sweaty lips. He could no longer lift his head, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alin jump to his feet with a flourish, carrying two messes of tubes in his arms.

The gas masks! He’d almost forgotten they owned them; after all, they were no use to anyone, not to sell and not to use. But now they could just save them!

“Here,” Alin threw one to Andrei, a mess of plastic that was little more than a set of goggles, a mouthpiece and a tin filter with a neck strap. Andrei didn’t even have time to put the thing on properly, clutching it to his mouth as Alin dragged him off the bed and under it instead. He held his little brother close to him, flat on top of his stomach, hoping to be a human pillow as their entire staircase collapsed and fell into oblivion.

 

… 

 

The world was pure chaos.

Luca lay sprawled against the outside of his apartment complex, saved only by his protective vest from Xiang, but unable to move. Glass tore through his sleeves and one of his eyes refused to open, blinding the other with the crushing agony shooting through his skull. Everything burned. The screams were all around. He couldn’t open his eyes or cry out for his family. Luca tried to move his hand, barely succeeding, and forced his good eye to open to find Cheng above him, collapsed on the now-angled grass amongst broken chairs and shards of glass. Next to him, Mei shook his limp, broken body, screaming at him to wake up whilst Xiang clung to her skirt and wailed until his little lungs were sore.

Above them still, the remains of the dazzling blue dome spiked upwards, so distinguished from this new truth, the swirling clouds, thick red sweeping across grey and burning everything in its path. Yet more shards were still falling, white-hot edges pointing straight for the people below.

Cheng still wasn’t moving. Mei continued her howling but it did no good.

Luca tried to move his hand upwards, to warn her of the falling glass, to call out to Mei and tell her to get herself and Xiang to safety, that Cheng was probably dead and there was no use putting their life on the line to save him, as horrendous as this all was.

But before he could even move his lips, a sliver of glass the size of a car came raining down, crushing them all in a sea of blood and gore. Tears formed in Luca’s eyes that only added to the agony as the bloodstained glass continued on its route, landing right next to him and straying his face with red droplets before crashing through the building's enormous windows.

“Your mask! Luca, get your mask!” bellowed Adriaan, and Luca turned his head to find his siblings the other side of the fresh new hole, Adriaan crouched over a lifeless Anri. His sleeves were already doused in her blood, and Luca had to squeeze his eyes shut at the angle her neck had snapped to.

No! Anri couldn’t be dead! His friends couldn’t be either! What on earth was happening to them all and what had they done to deserve it?

“Luca, your gas mask!”

What was Adriaan even talking about? What did it matter when the world was ending? 

“Luca!”

Luca forced himself to move his arm, ignoring the destruction and unparalleled human misery all around him, reaching out for his shoulder box and prizing the thing open with clammy fingers, grabbing his gas mask and pulling the mouthpiece over his head. Right, he would admit that felt better.

Luca hauled himself into a sitting position, surrounded by the dead and dying, focusing on no one but his brother, who’d finally admitted Anri was dead and abandoned her body, leaping over the chasm in their glassy surface to focus on his surviving sibling.

“We have to go!” He didn’t even give Luca a chance to protest, grabbing his hand and pulling him up. And they were gone. Half-dragging Luca behind him, Adriaan stumbled across the tilted world, dodging debris and ignoring those around him. Luca was not so fortunate. He saw every soul they passed, friends, strangers. Small children clutched in their parents’ arms, others alone, abandoned and screaming. And the dead. So many lay lifeless or on the brink of dying, the glistening white city stained with blood everywhere he looked. In their haste to escape what was clearly in the very air, the brothers even tripped and trampled over some of the bodies and living. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Luca swore he saw Monique, dragging her crushed legs across the street and reaching out to him. Calling for him. She'd made it after all then...

He wanted to save her.

But Adriaan would not let go of his hand. Luca threw his arm out towards her, not caring how he looked to her in his ragged shirt and trousers. But he could not help Monique, and was forced to watch as she disappeared under the feet of a panicked crowd scrambling to find a safe hiding place.

It was still hot. Adriaan’s face had erupted into bleeding, blistered burns, the things running up his arms and their escape was more than once halted by his need to stop and throw up.

“Where are we going?” Luca sobbed during one of those times, gas mask clammy around his jaw. His brother refused to let go of his hand, despite how painful the contact clearly was for him. In spite of how often he nagged his siblings for neglecting their gas masks, he’d appeared to have abandoned his own one somewhere back amongst the chaos.

“I have to get you somewhere safe,” he mumbled through his shuddering breath. Glass still fell from the sky, and they could barely breathe, but in amongst the streets, away from the square, they were that bit more sheltered from the horrors raining down on them.

“But where?” Luca was pretty convinced that this was the end. There was nowhere they could run to, not forever, not truly safe. They were only putting off the inevitable.

“Here,” Adriaan pulled him into an alley, almost vertical now and the brothers slipped and tumbled towards a dead end, and the skip lying on its side. The ground was juddering now, slipping down and down to somewhere Luca could not comprehend.

“Take this,” looking dangerously ill now, Adriaan pulled a letter from his trouser pocket, stuffing it in Luca’s own one roughly, “if you live through this hell, that letter should explain all.” And finally, he let go of Luca's hand. Adriaan hissed as a layer of skin was ripped from his palm, burnt onto the metal that was Luca's own hand. But the blood welling from the scraped flesh was miniscule compared to the full extent of his injuries.

“But-”

“Now, hold still,” Adriaan, with the last of his strength, pinned Luca to the floor and tore a hole in his trouser leg, at the top of his right thigh, to reveal shimmering silver and the smallest, most inconspicuous little button, right there on his robotic leg.

“No!” Luca cried, squirming and wriggling, “not that! I will not go to sleep!”

“You have to!” Adriaan bellowed into his face, “it’s the best chance you have!”

“No you cannot make me! I shall not go!” Luca tried his best to push his brother away, but Adriaan was too strong, and in a flash he’d pressed the boy’s shut-down button and the kid fell limp, eyes dull. He stood up, scooping Luca’s body into his arms and- tenderly, like he was laying a baby to sleep- placed him in the skip.

Adriaan fell to his knees, smiling at his brother’s peaceful face as the scorching hand of death finally claimed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So no, they still haven’t met. I should probably hurry up with that though since we’re seven chapters in. I wouldn’t really consider this a long one [maybe OOTSBM length if I ever finish, nowhere near Just Kids but longer than The Voyage] but they will actually interact and get to know each other eventually. Next chapter, even.   
> And then, if I get this and SOTF finished, I can focus on the rest of my fics with less stress! Plus, I miss the satisfaction of finishing a story.  
> Also, I’m guessing people knew from the get-go that the city would be destroyed. If not… surprise?!  
> Man, it was so fun taking that beautiful sci-fi city peteradnan had lovingly built and drawn, and dropping a motherfucking nuke on it.   
> Also, if you don’t understand anything that happened right at the end there, all will be revealed next chapter.


	8. Wasteland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for more graphic descriptions of death and general human misery. I think I have a serious psychological problem and I apologise for putting all of you through the product of that, my dear readers.  
> I’m actually really happy with the writing this time.

The mouthpiece of his gas mask left a ring of purple bruises and cracked bones and teeth around his jaw on impact, the blow knocking him clean out. He didn’t even dream, or he didn’t remember them. That time of comatose existence would forever be completely blank in his mind, a black hole in his memory constantly on the tip of his tongue, never to be recovered. It could’ve been hours, D.A.Y.s or far longer that he’d lain there, but when he finally came to, his brother was cold.

Andrei didn’t move the first D.A.Y. He wasn’t even certain he was alive as he burned, aware of nothing but the thin trickle of air filtering through his gas mask, the slowly cooling surface below him, how every inch of his skin stung. He lost track of time as his brain registered nothing but agony. 

And that was how he came round to the idea that he was alive. Death could never be this excruciating.

The second D.A.Y., his throat screamed and his stomach churned, but he couldn’t move. Everything ached and he felt so weak, his stomach a swirling void. In the evening, he opened his eyes, but could make nothing out except the remains of his brother, scattered under him and what had apparently broken his fall. Alin’s gas mask had come clean off, as had his jaw, and the both of them were sticky with drying blood.

Andrei didn’t have the energy to cry.

On the third D.A.Y., he crawled out of the makeshift shelter created by the remains of their bed, nearly falling through the doorway that was now their floor. He didn’t want to look, couldn’t bring himself to discover the extent of the damage, and how many hundreds were dead. He just focused on rummaging through what was left of their possessions to find something to eat. Soup would do perfectly.

He tore open the packet with great difficulty, yanked off his gas mask and drank it raw. It was heaven. It was manna. It was life. It was thick and syrupy and glazed the inside of his throat with its cooling relief, quelling the fire and drowning out the repugnant taste of blood and bile in his mouth.

The relief was not to last though, as within a few minutes, he was leaning over the doorway vomiting into the darkness below, hoping with all his heart he wasn’t disrespecting someone’s dead body.

He was surprised he wasn’t beyond all caring.

Clinging to the small sense of relief from the remains of his meal, Andrei crawled back to his brother’s body, room spinning, vision blurring, head throbbing. He fought another wave of vomit as he pulled his gas mask back around his head and collapsed against Alin’s ribs, asleep within minutes.

The fourth D.A.Y. wasn’t much brighter. Once more, Andrei made his way to the nearest source of food, wolfed it down, and threw most of it up again. This painful endeavour carried on for nearly a week, the boy’s throat slowly growing sorer though his stomach was no longer completely vacuously empty.

Eventually, he decided it was time to venture out, find more survivors, and try to escape the remains of his home. Alin smelt awful by now, and, along with the choking air, made it nearly impossible to go a D.A.Y. without being sick. He didn’t want to see his dear sweet brother this way, and Alin couldn’t help him anymore. He needed to find other people, what the situation was, and how they could survive together.

But in all the time he’d been here, he’d not seen one sign of life. 

Was he the only one left?

Andrei didn’t want to think of the possibility of such loneliness. What would even be the point of surviving if he was the last person in the world? When everything and everyone was destroyed?

He piled every packet of soup left into a little shoulder bag, along with a handful of cherished possessions, and began tearing strips of rope out of the few blankets he’d not bothered to pack, thick enough and strong enough to hold his weight. Satisfied with his creation, he first lowered down his bag, slowly, carefully, to the floor below, what used to be the outside wall of a neighbour’s flat. Then he himself tied the rope around the space of wall between window and door, knotting several times- just in case- and began to descend. 

As his brother’s corpse disappeared from sight, he hoped whatever spirit the man possessed would find some form of peace, maybe alongside Tsvetan.

The climb down was long and sapped a large portion of his strength. When Andrei finally reached the bottom, he swayed and tumbled to the ground, only pulling himself to a kneeling position to throw up once more. Ripping the gas mask off his face, however, only made his nausea worse, and it was a good five minutes before he could get up again.

The remains of his world was a dark, lonely place. Andrei craned his neck as he stared upwards, dwarfed by broken spiral staircase all around. How the place managed to turn on its side was completely baffling to him, for many people had assumed Iochtarach was a buried city under the ground, with nothing but dirt around them, possibly stretching out forever.

But now Andrei wanted to find out once and for all where he’d lived all his life, and find someone or something that could help. He didn’t know how long he could go before his little legs gave out, but he would be dammed if he spent more time sitting and moping.

The idea of doing this alone only partly scared him, for Andrei was a very independent child, but the circumstances in which his little adventure would take place, so soon after everyone he loved had been cruelly ripped from him, the fact that he may never experience love or companionship again, that was what truly terrified him.

But the boy put those feelings aside and began to climb the many walls the stairs had created for him, slow going although luckily in some parts the stairs had almost completely fallen away. He searched every flat he could access for survivors and, upon finding none, elected to borrow their food and other useful supplies. Well, they wouldn’t be needing them after all.

He did not find another living being, but he encountered more than enough corpses. There was Peter and his gang of tiny orphans, lying in a brown pool from one of the smashed water pumps; there was Ms O’Shaughnessy and her children, Mr Lovino Vargas- the stair manager- his childhood playmates, clients, parents, babies he’d delivered, but strangely no Tsvetan.

Or not so strangely, Andrei considered, given that he had fallen downwards, whilst Andrei himself was slowly making his way towards what had been the top of the staircase.

His easily sapped strength and the rubble stretched out what was usually a few hours of walking to a three-D.A.Y. trek and climb. With no way of telling D.A.Y. from N.I.G.H.T., Andrei simply camped when he ran out of energy, ate a small ration of pudding or stew, tried to keep it down, and curled up under his blankets to sleep. Having learnt the hard way just how toxic the air was, he only took off his gas mask to eat or be sick, even wearing that thing to bed, despite the pain and by the fourth D.A.Y. a deep groove had formed around his mouth, right over the fading bruises.

Not that that was his biggest concern, as on the fourth D.A.Y. he finally made it outside, for the first time in his life, and at long last he was greeted by the real world.

And promptly passed out as a wave of dizziness came over him.

 

…

 

This time, he was not out for long though, a mere handful of minutes passed before his eyes opened once more, mind completely unable to draw on memory to answer the question of why he was on the floor.

So he waited for his head to stop spinning and pulled himself up.

What greeted him was a world he could never even fathom, spaces so wide they made his head swirl in its skull once more. Dirt stretched out for miles before him and the bright light from the outside world would’ve stung his eyes, had he not been wearing the tinted goggles of his gas mask.

There was rubble everywhere and, naturally, more bodies. As Andrei took a step forward, nausea and dizziness once more sent him to his knees.

His mind couldn’t fathom what was before him. The space and the natural light tormented his brain as he tried to process the world outside his staircase, and failed. But Andrei knew he had to keep moving, search for any survivors.

He took a few, shuffled steps forward before turning around and being amazed and horrified for yet another time. 

His staircase, Metrou, was one of many, like others had theorized and rumoured over the years, all around him they lay, lifeless, broken giants. The fact that he’d yet to find another survivor was all the more ominous.

But that wasn’t the most pressing issue even. For just beyond the remains of Iochtarach was a wall.

But it was unlike any wall Andrei had seen before- then again, he had seen none of this before- in that it looked more like a giant broken circle. Parts of Iochtarach’s walls were stuck to the giant wall, and Andrei quickly came to the conclusion that his home had been part of the underside to this monster. The steel supports amongst the debris on the floor, and hanging from the edges of the circle, made him wonder if the circle, and Iochtarach, had been elevated above this wasteland, if it had always been like this, that is. Andrei wondered if whatever had destroyed his home and family had also lain waste to the land. He wouldn’t be surprised.

Andrei was curious about this wall they’d been hung from so, having nowhere better to be, decided to walk around it. Maybe someone else had been curious about it and was already on the other side. What if when he got there- though- they had already wandered off somewhere else? With that thought in mind, he quickened his pace.

It was several hours of yet more walking- with frequent breaks- before Andrei came face to face with what he’d not been anticipating.

There was a second city on the other side.

Well, Andrei could make out lumps that could be dwellings, like his own staircase but turned inside-out. This city seemed to be made almost entirely out of glass, from the smashed windows to the remains of a wall-or dome- around the outside. Most of the city, however, was scattered across the ground, one edge of the wall-floor buried into the dirt and fine powdery glass. The inhabitants were amongst the debris, many mere blackened skeletons in burnt clothes, Andrei shocked at the styles of what outfits he could see. These people had been from a different world entirely, with their bright colours and jewellery, one or two neat layers not piles and piles of mismatched rags. 

Andrei wasn’t sure, all things considered, if he envied them.

There weren’t any survivors from this stock either, it seemed; shame really, because Andrei had a lot of questions about the place and its people. That being said, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to ask them right now.

This new city would have supplies though, and possibly a place to call shelter for the next few days, as it wasn't so steep, until he could think of what to do next. What was his life even supposed to be now? And he thought he was unsure of his future before... 

Andrei froze.

Through his goggles, something shimmering caught his eye that wasn't glass, sprawled next to a beaten metal container spilling waste products into the dirt. Andrei had always liked bright, shiny objects, so curiosity- and no current responsibilities- decided he should have a little look.

The closer he walked, the more humanoid the shiny object became, until he found himself staring down at a robotic boy, intact and looking as if he had merely slept through the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean technically they’ve met. Not interacted. But met.  
> Next chapter then. Incredibly, this still isn’t the longest I’ve gone in a fic without the main couple meeting. But wow this is getting exciting huh? How will these two fare in the outside world?


	9. The silver boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaah I’m so sorry this is late D: fuck it’s been over a year since I last updated but so many things got in the way and I just didn’t have time…   
> But anyhow, these two are back and shit’s still sad.

The robot boy gleamed and gleamed, out of place amongst the fire and dirt and death, something brand new and exciting for Andrei in this old, sick world. It was something strange, different from tragedy upon tragedy, rather a curiosity. At the very least, it was a temporary distraction from this collapsed, disorientating situation he found himself in. A metal person was something his mind could process -, unlike a land filled with sights he could barely comprehend – something he could focus his attention on as he gave his brain a rest.

Keen to examine this being, Andrei pulled him up by the battered chest plate he wore, setting him into a seating position against a pile of metal debris. His head lolled slightly.

Though this boy was sleek and shiny, his clothes were grubby and torn, but had most likely been cared for before this awful, apocalyptic week. Andrei was drawn to him like a child to a new toy, wondering what kind of world had people made from the same materials as his pots and pans. The boy couldn’t be a toy though, because why else would he be wearing a gas mask like he had real lungs?

His hair seemed almost real, and the skin on his face was so soft - torn just behind the ear to reveal more silver - but smooth and rosy and unlike anything Andrei had seen before. The people he was used to were hardened and rough; even delicate little Alin had callouses covering his long, bony hands. He brushed a fingertip against the boy’s long lashes, pulling off his gas mask to pinch at his cheeks and bottom lip to feel the fake skin, before pushing back the curtain of hair covering half his face.

Andrei had expected something horrifying, but it was just his other eye: an unseeing, beautiful teal.

The eye popped out of its socket.

Andrei screamed as he leapt back. After everything he’d seen, it wasn’t disgust that made him reel, but mere shock. Everything was dead and things weren’t supposed to move anymore.

The eyeball hung by a wire, sparks flickering from frayed copper and it took a well of reserve from Andrei to reach out and push the thing back in its socket. Okay, one of the wires was sticking out and the iris facing towards the nose, but at least it wasn’t hanging down past the boy’s cheek now.

Andrei just combed his fringe back in place with his fingers, and decided to think no more of it.

Was the robot boy broken on the inside too? Would he wake up again? Andrei wasn’t sure how to go about finding out, knowing absolutely nothing of this world’s technology. Where on earth would an ‘on’ button go on a robot boy? Did he even have an on button? Alin’s clocks all had an ‘on’ button, but this upper world probably had technology millennia ahead of Iochtarach’s, so it was possible the boy didn’t even have an ‘on’ button.

But if he did, then maybe it was his nose? His bellybutton? Some obscure little switch on the back of a tooth?

Or maybe it was that giant button on his visible thigh.

Andrei mentally slapped himself for not noticing it sooner: there it was, bright red like a boil, poking through his torn trousers right before him. He brushed the boy’s fringe with the back of his hand gently, refusing to breathe as he pressed that button.

It worked.

The boy woke up slowly, blinking like he was merely waking up from a long sleep. His beautiful face was soft as he adjusted to his consciousness, lips pouting and eyes wide. When his good eye was able to focus on Andrei, it regarded him with confusion, mouth moving softly though he was unable to utter a word. Andrei could understand. He hadn’t made a noise since his brother died.

All he had to offer the boy was a reassuring smile, so that was what he gave willingly. It was returned.

“Hello,” he finally croaked out, speaking painful and a voice little more than a whisper. He was ignored, however, as the boy finally surveyed the destruction around him. As his eyes flickered at the rubble of his home and the countless bodies, breath hitching and chest heaving heavier and heavier the more he took in, the more it seemed like he would collapse.

Andrei truly didn’t know what to say.

He let the boy paint the full picture himself, and it came to no surprise when he collapsed into a ball with an agonised wail.

…

Andrei let the boy cry his fill, sympathetic though he himself was beyond such a reaction. If there was a moment since the world ended that he’d considered crying, it would have been then, though, at the sight of such anguish, of the personification of what he’d felt since waking up. As it was, he knelt before the robot boy in silence, unsure if the other was even aware of his presence anymore. Occasionally, he would sob words Andrei took to be names, and a couple of times he swore he heard his own one, even though there was no way the boy could possibly know that. Andrei did have to wonder if being alive was something he should be lamenting.

Crying seemed to bring the boy a great deal of pain as tears mixed with the loose wire in his eye, electric shocks only succeeding in making him more hysterical, more trapped in the pit he couldn't claw out of. His sobs would be punctuated with whimpers and the occasional cry of agony.

Eventually, Andrei got up to search for more survivors, leaving the robot boy to it. There couldn’t be only two survivors, right? Yes, these two cities had been completely destroyed, but if the residents of Iochtarach could survive inhuman conditions, they could surely survive anything; the residents of this mystery city probably had far more resources at their disposal, so some would be able to cling on as well.

Then again, Andrei had been out for D.A.Y.s now; if there were survivors, chances are many would have been unable to move and help themselves, either dying quickly or being unable to stop their injuries forcing them to suffer a slow and painful death. Anyone with the strength to get up and walk would have done so by now.

Someone had to be still alive though. Andrei searched the bodies until the robot boy’s sobs finally died down, but he only found broken corpses. Many were burnt skeletons, others horribly mutated in ways that reminded him of Eduard and Katya’s children.

When he made his way back to the one person he’d found alive, he noticed the boy had finally fallen quiet. He stared into nothing, curled up in a ball in the ash.

He sat down in front of him again, like terrified student and clueless teacher. He opened his mouth, but the pain was unbearable. His mouth was too dry to make a noise, so he had no choice but to simply wait.

Andrei made himself dinner, offering half his soup to the mystery boy but he just refused. The boy just kept crying, silently this time, save for the occasional whimper as his eye zapped him, and Andrei didn’t start a conversation as he ate.

“Luca.”

He almost missed it.

“I’m sorry?” he asked, holding the packet to his mouth to catch the last dregs of pea soup. The mystery boy stirred.

“My name is Luca,” he croaked, “pleasure to meet you.”

Andrei raised an eyebrow. “A pleasure?”

“I mean,” Luca squirmed, biting his lip, “I was trying to be polite. I’ve hardly been dignified since waking up.”

“Luca,” the name felt heavy on his tongue, as did what he had to say. “We – I think – we might be the last people left alive. I don't blame you for being upset about it.”

Luca’s mouth moved, but no words came out. He lay in the dirt and crushed glass, hair splayed across the floor and revealing his broken eye. “We cannot. I refuse to believe.”

Andrei closed his eyes, letting wispy air rattle in through his mask. “Everyone is dead. Everyone we love, care about, they’re gone. And we are all that’s left.” He glanced down at Luca. “I’d say we are the last of humanity but are you even human? Are you a robot?”

Luca gave him a glare so evil Andrei had to shrink back.

“I’m human.” He might have been going for wrath, but the crack in his voice brought his words down to a hiss. “I have a human brain.”

“And the rest of you?”

“Metal,” Luca replied grimly. “Bones, heart, the lot.”

Andrei was gobsmacked. “Your civilisation… you must be magic.”

Well, at least that got Luca smiling. “No, we just know a lot about science. We created technology to bring back those almost dead.”

“Like you?” Andrei bit his lip. Was it even appropriate to ask? “What happened to you?”

“A story for another day. I do not even know your name and you want my tragic backstory?” The two shared a smile.

“I’m Andrei Radacanu. I am sixteen years old and I live – lived – in Iochtarach. Erm, Iochtarach is apparently the city below yours.”

Luca whistled. “I wasn’t the only one raised to be polite then. You know, I did always wonder if Uachtarach was really the only city in existence. After all, the fact that we were also called Biniveau never made sense to me. Why give a city two names?”

“We called our home Biniveau too,” Andrei commented, voice rising with excitement.

“So Biniveau is the name of… this structure,” Luca glanced at the wall behind him, “anything here that housed a human. I see.”

“And we are all that is left of Biniveau.”

The pair fell silent. A crushing silence settled over them as they tried to not let the grief settle in again. The time for crying was over and they needed to look to the future. This was their reality now and if they didn't accept that, they'd soon be joining the corpses around them.

“So,” began Luca, “town meeting. Where do we go from here?”

“I want to know all about your world, for starters,” Andrei tapped his chin, “then, we survive, I guess.”


End file.
